Christmas at 221B
by firefly5151
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles centered around Christmas time at 221B.
1. Candy Canes

Chapter 1: Candy Canes

* * *

John ambled up the stairs and walked into the living room of 221B with trepidation. Knowing that Sherlock didn't have a case on and the storm outside hadn't let up all day, John didn't want to know what the detective had done to the flat while he was at the surgery. Instead of bullet holes in walls or the flat imitating a disaster zone, he found Sherlock sitting at the table in the living room with his laptop open in front of him; right where he had left him hours earlier. "I see you haven't moved since I left," John said as he shrugged out of his soaking wet jacket and hung it over a kitchen chair to dry.

"You were only gone four hours. Besides, it's raining," Sherlock replied with his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. With a small smile, he saved the page he was reading to his bookmarks. He then clicked the back button to click on another link from his search.

"But you have no case on or any experiments to conduct. You should be bored. You've always been bored." Wanting a cuppa to warm him up, John filled the kettle with water.

Sherlock quickly glanced at John's retreating back then returned his attention to his laptop. "Not bored. Researching." Hearing John go up the stairs to his room after turning the kettle on, Sherlock picked up the object that was sitting next to his laptop, moved the plastic wrapping out of the way and took a few licks. Not satisfied, he took a small bite, then covered it back up with the plastic and set it back down on the table next to his laptop.

Just as the water began to boil in the kettle, John returned to the kitchen. He made two cups of tea and brought them to the sitting room. He placed once next to Sherlock and took his to the sofa where he sank down into it wearily.

Sherlock continued reading while sipping his tea.

"What are those?" John asked a few minutes later, shattering the silence in the flat.

"Hmmm?"

"Those," John repeated, pointing to the bowl on the coffee table that now held individually wrapped candy canes instead of the odds and ends that it usually held.

Sherlock glanced at the bowl that John was pointed at then brought his eyes over to John. He raised an eyebrow. "I thought what they are would be fairly obvious to you. They are a confection popular this time of year. They taste like peppermint and are made from sugar…"

"I know what they are, Sherlock," John interrupted exasperated. "What are they doing here?"

Sherlock turned his full attention to John, arms resting on the table. "As I said, they are popular this time of year."

"Sherlock!"

"It's December." Sherlock glanced away from John.

Now it was John's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And?"

"And?"

John looked at Sherlock pointedly. "December really doesn't tell me why they are here. Are they for an experiment?"

Sherlock turned his attention back to his laptop. "I like candy canes," he said quietly, his face going slightly pink. He could have answered with a lie, but for some reason he really didn't want to.

John broke out in a wide grin at the detective's admission and embarrassment over something as simple as a candy cane. "Do you mind if I have one?"

"Help yourself," Sherlock answered distractedly.

After grabbing a candy cane for himself, John sat back on the sofa and looked to Sherlock. He was still in shock that the detective actually liked candy canes.

While reading the article that was currently on his browser, Sherlock picked up his half-eaten candy cane and took a few licks.

John couldn't help the smile that widened on his face. "You know, I never thought I'd see you eating a candy cane."

In response, Sherlock began to type frantically on his laptop while his cheeks had gone a deeper shade of pink.

As discreetly as he could, John pulled out his phone and quickly snapped a picture, wanting to remember this particular event for the rest of his life. Sherlock was staring intently at the laptop, his cheeks still a deep pink from embarrassment, and licking a candy cane.


	2. Christmas Tree

Chapter 2: Christmas Tree

* * *

Sherlock lay on the sofa with his hands clasped on his stomach and was staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were circling around John and wondering why the doctor was over 45 minutes late in getting home. The sound of the main door to 221B opening caught his attention. Instead of hearing it close a few seconds later, he heard something heavy being dropped on the ground. The sound of cardboard being scraped across the floor came next with the door finally being closed seconds later.

At the odd sounds, Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked toward the door. The sound of John, he would be able to recognize that sound anywhere, and an extremely heavy object ascending the stairs invaded the flat.

Once John and the object he was hauling reached the door, Sherlock stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He now knew exactly why John was late. "No!"

John set the box on the floor and pushed it into the flat and out of the way of the door.

"I said no," Sherlock repeated glaring at the large box in disgust. "I do not want that… _thing_ …in this flat." He whirled around and picked up his phone which was on the arm of the sofa.

John glanced from the box to Sherlock, who now had his complete attention turned to his phone. "Sherlock, be reasonable."

Sherlock's hands paused on his phone and he looked to John. "I am being reasonable. Things like that do not belong in this flat. They don't belong anywhere, actually, except maybe a skip." He looked at the box with distaste then returned his attention to his phone, walking slowly to his chair.

"It's almost Christmas," John stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Even if it was Christmas, that _thing_ would still not be allowed in this flat."

"I'll put it in my room, then."

Sherlock quickly glanced at the box. "It won't fit and you know it."

Biting his tongue against the urge to yell at the detective in anger, John instead took a few deep breaths. "You know what? Fine. Fine! You win. Like always." Without another look to Sherlock, he began the trek back out of the flat with the box to return it to the store.

Still looking at his phone, Sherlock smirked. It was easier than he had anticipated.

Having waited patiently for forty minutes, which was definitely hard for Sherlock, he finally heard the tell-tale signs of John returning. He placed his phone on the arm of his chair and sat looking expectantly at the door. The moment John stepped foot into the room, Sherlock watched as a handful of emotions, some he didn't recognize, cross John's face.

John looked from the beautiful, definitely live, undecorated Christmas tree in front of the window by the sofa to Sherlock who was watching him carefully from his chair. "I don't…"

"You honestly believe I would want some artificial plastic tree gracing this flat when we could have a live tree?" Sherlock sniffed deeply. "Granted, some artificial trees can look real, but only a real Christmas tree can smell like a Christmas tree."

Shocked speechless, John's eyes moved back to the tree. He walked a few feet to the sofa and sunk down.

Sherlock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I had expected the tree to be delivered here yesterday evening, but the storm yesterday halted its travel."

John brought his eyes back to Sherlock. "I was under the impression you didn't _do_ Christmas."

"I don't." Sherlock looked pointedly at John. "But you do."

"Why didn't you tell me about the tree? It would have saved me the hassle with the one I bought. Not to mention my anger."

Biting his lips, Sherlock looked away. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"I'm definitely surprised." John jumped up from the sofa in excitement. "Let's decorate."

* * *

 _If you happen to have anything you'd like to see, please let me know. There's no guarantee I'll write it, but I just might._


	3. Christmas Cookies

Chapter 2: Christmas Cookies

* * *

As if it had personally offended him, Sherlock glared at his laptop and slammed it shut. In an attempt to keep himself occupied, the last two hours were spent looking at comments on his website – there were none; commenting on all of John's blog posts – there were many to comment on; and reading emails looking for new cases – there were none that were above a two and were definitely not worth his time. That left a boring and extremely dull five hours before John was due back home and could entertain him.

Resigned to the fact that his brain would probably atrophy from lack of use, he got up from the kitchen table and wandered around the living room. His eyes swept around the room, but nothing held his interest. Pulling his dressing gown around him tightly, he flopped onto the sofa and curled up facing the back hugging the Union Jack pillow.

"Woo hoo!" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from the doorway as she knocked on the open door ten minutes later.

Sherlock closed his eyes in response and feigned sleep, not sure he wanted to deal with his landlady.

"Sherlock, on John's way out this morning he mentioned that you might be bored today."

Sherlock thought that definitely was an understatement. He then knitted his brow as he realized exactly what Mrs. Hudson said. Sighing quietly, he wished John would sometimes mind his own business. Not hearing his landlady leaving, he reluctantly rolled over. Mrs. Hudson was wearing an apron and had patches of flour on the front and a little in her hair. "Is that so?"

"Get up. The Christmas cookies are baked and we've got some decorating to do."

That would explain the scent that had permeated the flat for the last few hours, Sherlock thought. Not having figured that out sooner, he cringed as he realized his brain was already beginning to deteriorate.

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips at Sherlock's lack of movement. "Come on Sherlock! I've baked all different kinds. There's too much for me to decorate alone."

With relief that his brain wasn't deteriorating after all, there were just too many scents competing with each other, Sherlock slowly sat up and shrugged out his dressing gown. There was no use denying Mrs. Hudson. He'd eventually end up in her flat or she would bring everything up here.

Sherlock followed her down to her flat and into the kitchen. Before being ushered into a chair, he glanced around the small kitchen and grimaced. There were probably close to 10 dozen cookies lining the counters, table, and two of the four chairs. He also noticed she had the radio on to a station that was playing Christmas music.

"I've got icing and sprinkles you can use to decorate," Mrs. Hudson stated as she took a seat across from Sherlock. "There are shortbread, sugar cutouts and gingerbread men all waiting to be decorated."

Sherlock frowned at the piping bags and bowls of different coloured icing, dreading what was to come and racking his brain for a way to get out of it. Decorating Christmas cookies was definitely something he did not want to do, no matter how bored he was. He never even wanted to decorate or make cookies when he was a child.

Mrs. Hudson put some blue icing in a bag and began piping it on a snowflake cutout. When she noticed Sherlock just sitting there, she paused in her decorating. "These cookies aren't going to decorate themselves, Sherlock."

Seeing no way out of it, Sherlock reached for a gingerbread man from the rack to his left and placed it on the table in front of him. After plopping some white icing in a bag, he began piping it around the edges. Next he took some red to give it some clothes. The bag was hovering over the cookie when a blob dropped where the gingerbread man's neck would be. He stared at the blob in slight disappointment, but a mischievous smile slowly began to grow on his face. He left the blob there and continued decorating with another color.

While trying to ignore Mrs. Hudson humming and singing along to the radio, Sherlock spent the next forty-five minutes decorating various cookies, putting each finished product on the platter to his right.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked, horrified after another ten minutes. "What on Earth are you doing?"

Sherlock was so engrossed in his decorating that he jumped at Mrs. Hudson's outburst. "What?" His eyes went to his platter of decorated cookies that Mrs. Hudson was pointing to. "Do you like them?" he asked with a proud smile.

"No."

Sherlock's smile fell immediately. "What's wrong with my decorating?" He looked down to the snowman cutout he was currently decorating. He'd removed the head and used icing to attach it at a weird angle. Its carrot nose was sticking in the snowman's side with a red icing halo surrounding the entry point, and he was just putting on black x's for its eyes. So far this snowman was turning out to be one of his favorites.

"That is not how you decorate for Christmas," she admonished.

"They all look fine to me." He finished the snowman's eyes and placed in on the platter between a candy cane he made look like a murder weapon and a gingerbread man he decorated to look like himself. He reached for another gingerbread man, placed it in front of him and picked up the bag of tan coloured icing.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and smiled affectionately. "Of course they do. Just promise me you'll decorate some that represent Christmas as well."

Sherlock wanted nothing to do with decorating appropriately, but the look he was being given made him relent. "If I must." He picked up the blue icing and began piping on a shirt for his John gingerbread man.

After two more hours, all the cookies had been decorated and divided up. Mrs. Hudson insisted on Sherlock taking all of his creations up to his flat for him and John to enjoy. Sherlock happily did as he was told. He entered 221B and placed the platters on the kitchen table. Then he made his way to his bedroom to change into his pajamas since there was some icing on the clothes he'd been wearing.

Sherlock walked back out into the living room to get a fire going in the fireplace. Just as he was finishing up, John entered the flat.

"I'm glad I'm finally home," John said tiredly as he took off his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. "I could really use a cuppa. Want one Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered as he stood up and with bated breath watched John walk into the kitchen.

John paused at the kitchen table then turned to Sherlock. "Did you do all these yourself?"

Sherlock nodded in hesitation as he sank into his chair.

"They are absolutely brilliant!" John grinned at Sherlock. "I couldn't have decorated them better myself." He glanced one last time at the platters then began the process of making tea. Once the tea was steeping in the mugs, he turned back to the table.

At seeing John's interest, Sherlock got up and stood next to him. A smile formed as he admired his work spread out on the table.

"I can't believe you actually made gingerbread men to look like you and me."

Sherlock looked at the two cookies then raised his eyes to John. "Why wouldn't I? I couldn't think of a better way to decorate them. These are my favorites," Sherlock said while pointing to a gingerbread John complete with holding a gun, and his snowman victim with the carrot as the murder weapon.

"I think this one is mine," John said while picking up a Sherlock snowman.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "But I'm wearing the ear hat."

"That's why. It's perfect." He gave Sherlock a shy smile. "I can't believe you actually made the hat considering how much you hate it." John replaced the cookie, grabbed their mugs of tea and held one out to Sherlock. "I think I need to try one." He picked up a snowflake that was decorated with blood-red icing.

With mug of tea in hand, Sherlock went back to his chair. He sipped it as John came and sat across from him and alternated between eating the cookie and drinking his tea.

Wiping crumbs on his shirt, John looked to Sherlock. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Mmmm." Sherlock looked from the kitchen to John, glad that the doctor did speak to Mrs. Hudson.

The rest of the night was spent eating takeaway and staging a cookie crime scene on the kitchen table. Sherlock couldn't have asked for a better boring afternoon and evening.

* * *

 _Bkpeakehotmail-thanks for your review. I loved your suggestion, mostly because I was half way done writing that exact scenario. Hope you enjoyed._


	4. Mistletoe

Chapter 4: Mistletoe

* * *

"I can't believe Greg fell for that," John laughed as he pulled out his keys to unlock the street door to 221B.

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock asked with his hands in his pockets while he looked up at the ominous clouds that decided five minutes ago was a perfect time to begin raining heavily.

With the key in the lock, John turned to face Sherlock. "Really, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned his head toward John with his eyes open wide in expectation.

John just shook his head and turned back to unlocking the door. "Never mind."

The two entered the building and while John grabbed the mail that Mrs. Hudson placed on the small table, Sherlock headed up to their flat.

While flipping through the mail and not paying attention to where he was going, John walked right into the back of Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs. "Sherlock!" John yelled. "Why are you just standing there?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He just stared up at the ceiling.

When his question was met with silence, John followed Sherlock's gaze. Not believing what he was seeing, he stepped up next to Sherlock to get a closer look. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sherlock looked from the ceiling to John. "What is it?"

"Honestly? You don't know what it is?" he asked pointing at the offending object.

"Do you think I'd really ask a question when I already know the answer?" Sherlock looked back to the ceiling.

"It's mistletoe. Mrs. Hudson must have hung it there while we were out."

As if she knew she was being talked about, Mrs. Hudson opened the door to her flat and walked over to Sherlock and John who were still staring at the ceiling. "I thought I heard you two coming in. I bought a couple of poinsettias while I was out at the shops today. I put one in your flat. Don't kill it before Christmas, Sherlock." She followed both John and Sherlock's gaze to the ceiling. "Do you like it?"

"No," John responded.

Sherlock turned towards John and Mrs. Hudson. "Mistletoe is a parasitic plant that grows on the trunks or branches of a tree. What purpose does it serve hanging from our ceiling?"

"Let me guess," John began. "You deleted it since it has to do with Christmas."

"Of course I deleted it, John. It's not important to the Work." Sherlock looked back up the mistletoe.

"It's a Christmas tradition, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson answered. "When someone is standing under the mistletoe, they are to be kissed."

John looked at the dangling mistletoe then turned to Mrs. Hudson. "So why did you hang it here?"

"Do I really need to answer that?" she asked looking pointedly from John to Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson. How many times must I…" He paused and took a breath to reign in his anger over this constant battle with their landlady. "I'm not gay!" John looked at the detective who was watching him with interest. "And Sherlock's…Sherlock."

"Whatever you say, dear. Now I need to get back to my program on the telly. The commercial break should be over." Mrs. Hudson smiled and headed back to her flat.

With a glare at the mistletoe, John quickly walked underneath it and headed up to the flat.

Sherlock glanced at the mistletoe one last time before heading up the stairs as well. Upon entering the flat, he took off his wet coat and scarf and hung them on the back of the door. He heard John rummaging around in the kitchen, no doubt putting the kettle on for tea, and went to investigate.

When Sherlock reached the kitchen, John had just filled the kettle with water and was pulling two mugs from an upper cabinet. As he watched John close the upper cabinet door, something green caught his attention. Sherlock looked up to the ceiling right above John and spotted another sprig of mistletoe.

Remembering what Mrs. Hudson told him the mistletoe was for, Sherlock waited until John plopped bags of tea in the mugs and then quickly invaded into his personal space. Before John could even utter a word, Sherlock kissed him on the cheek.

"Sherlock!" John shouted in surprise and shock.

With his face turning pink, Sherlock quickly looked up to the ceiling then bounded past John and into his bedroom to change out of wet clothes.

* * *

 _I'm not sure if anyone is actually reading these, but if you have any scenarios you'd like to see, let me know. I'll see what I can do._


	5. Mint

This is in response to the Sherlock December Ficlets Tumblr prompt, peppermint, which I've changed to mint.

* * *

As Sherlock and John exited the elevator and stepped down the few steps in the entryway towards the front door of the building, Sherlock detoured to the wooden mailbox cubbies situated in the space under the stairs. Not knowing what could be so important, John continued on to the door and exited the building.

In the time they were interviewing their latest client in one of the fourth floor flats, it had dropped drastically in temperature, the sun had hidden behind ominous clouds and the wind had picked up. Deciding it would be better to wait in the relative warmth of the building, John turned around to go back inside but the automatic locking door slammed shut.

Knowing Sherlock like he did, John didn't bother knocking on the door to be let in. It would be a waste of energy. Instead, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hoped Sherlock wouldn't take long. As a chill ran through him, he decided a warm drink was in order before they made the trek to wherever Sherlock deemed necessary to go to next.

After waiting for a delivery truck to pass, John stepped off the sidewalk into the alley of a street. He looked to his right but just saw what looked like the backside of buildings turning out of sight. Looking left, he saw signs for a pub, a Pret and a Costa. He smiled just as the door to the building opened and Sherlock stepped out.

"Did you find the mailbox cubbies interesting?" John stepped back on the sidewalk and began walking in the direction of the coffee house.

Sherlock followed. "You'd be amazed at what you can learn from a person's mail, or lack thereof. For example, there were actually two flats in that building that were vacation rentals." As they got to the small intersection, John continued straight instead of turning left. "John, where are you going? We have to go up this street if we want to get a taxi."

John stopped and turned toward Sherlock. "I don't know where you have in mind to go next, but our first stop is definitely going to get something warm to drink."

"I don't want anything to drink," Sherlock replied.

"But I do. Come on." John turned back around and picked up his pace to the Costa. "And we're staying there to drink it too."

Sherlock gave a huff. "Fine. I just don't want you telling me we have to stop the investigation later because you're hungry."

John sighed in relief as the warmth from the shop enveloped him. "Go get us a seat. I'll place the order." He walked behind the last person in the queue hoping Sherlock would listen and not leave. Five minutes later he had the order and happily found Sherlock at one of the few tables by the front windows.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked as John placed the circular tray holding two large mugs topped with whipped cream and sparkly crumbs, two spoons, and a slice of loaf cake onto the table.

"Mint hot chocolates and a slice of their holiday clementine drizzle loaf cake." He began taking the items off the tray when he spotted Sherlock's raised eyebrows. "What? You told me not to bother you about being hungry later."

Sherlock looked to the hot chocolates with hope. "That doesn't explain the two hot chocolates. You can't be that thirsty?"

"No, you idiot," John laughed. "One is for you." He finished emptying the tray and realized he forgot napkins and a fork for himself. After returning to the table with the items, he went to dig into his loaf cake but paused as he looked at it. "Sherlock, where did my frosting go?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock picked up his mug of hot chocolate.

It was then that John noticed that Sherlock's mug was half empty as well. "Like mint hot chocolate as well as frosting do you?" he asked amused.

Sherlock took a large gulp of his hot chocolate, resulting in giving himself a whipped cream mustache. "Well, you're always on about me not eating, aren't you?"

John passed a napkin over to Sherlock. "You've got a mustache." He took a sip of his own hot chocolate. "God this is good. Now I can see why you've almost finished yours already." He wiped his own mouth with a napkin and dug into the cake. "Not bad either." He pushed the plate between him and Sherlock. "Since you've eaten the best part already, you can have some of the cake if you'd like." Surprising John, Sherlock took John's fork and took a bite of the cake.

A few minutes after finishing their hot chocolate and the slice of cake, Sherlock declared the detour done and led them back to Baker Street so he could do some research. While Sherlock was on his laptop, John made a mental note about Sherlock's surprising reaction to the hot chocolate and the loaf cake. It would definitely come in handy for future days this time of year when he needed to get Sherlock to eat or drink.


	6. Wish List

Sherlock December ficlets prompt: Wish List

* * *

Sherlock bounded up the steps of 221B in excitement. Molly had actually given him a perfect liver to experiment on and he didn't have to sweet-talk her for it. He definitely wasn't going to question why. He swept into the flat and put the container in one of the crispers in the refrigerator. Taking off his coat and scarf, he went back to the living room to hang the items on the back of the door.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked as he spotted John sitting at the table bent over a piece of paper and chewing on the end of a pen.

"Thinking," John responded distractedly.

Sherlock walked to the table and peered over John's shoulder. He stood back up with a smirk and took a seat opposite John. "A Christmas wish list? Really John? I never took you for writing to Santa. Aren't you a little old for that?" Sherlock took out his mobile and opened the web browser.

John pulled the pen out of his mouth. "It's not for Santa, you idiot. It's for work. We're doing a secret Santa."

"What is a secret Santa?"

"Seriously?"

Sherlock glanced from his phone to John. "Am I the type of person to ask questions when I know the answer?" He actually did know what a secret Santa was, but sometimes just liked John explaining things to him.

"The things you don't know." John shook his head in amusement. "You pick someone's name at random, buy them a Christmas gift of a certain cost, and you don't say who you've picked. It's a secret." John jotted something down on the paper in front of him and put the pen back in his mouth.

"And is a list required for this secret Santa?" Sherlock pocketed his phone and grabbed John's laptop which was sitting under a stack of papers next to him.

"Not usually. There were complaints about the gifts that were given over the last couple of years so a majority of the staff decided on adding wish lists this year."

Sherlock typed something into Google and waited for the page to load. "If I was doing a secret Santa, I wouldn't need to buy an item from a wish list. I would already know what the person would want."

John put the pen down and folder the paper into thirds. "I'd love to see your wish list." A moment later, John's smile disappeared and he looked at Sherlock horrified. "No. I take that back. I wouldn't want to see it. Your list would probably give me nightmares."

Sherlock looked up at John clearly offended. He quietly closed the laptop, and without a word, retreated to the kitchen to begin his experiment. His happy mood from earlier was now gone. "Stupid wish lists," he muttered as he pulled the liver out of the refrigerator. He hoped to lose himself in his experiment fairly quickly so he didn't have to think on why John's comment actually hurt. Not that he would ever have the urge to do so, and knowing that it wouldn't hold anything odd anyway; he made a mental note to never make a Christmas wish list.


	7. Fruitcake

Day 3 prompt: Fruitcake

* * *

After hitting the post button for his latest reply on John's blog, Sherlock eyed the foil wrapped package, complete with red bow, sitting on the coffee table. With his eyes never leaving the package, he set the laptop on floor and sunk more into his chair with his elbows on the arms of the chair and his fingers steepled in front of his mouth.

It only took a few seconds for Sherlock to observe that whatever was wrapped in the foil had at one time been warm but had cooled after it was wrapped. The shape suggested it was a loaf of some type. Bread maybe. He needed to find out for sure.

Springing out of his chair, Sherlock quickly made his way to the sofa and sat down in front of the package. He picked it up and gave it a sniff. It smelled slightly sweet. Not bread then. Or at least not a normal white loaf of bread. He found one of the edges and peeled back a bit of the foil. Sherlock was met with the sight of a golden brown crust, dots of red which could be cherries, and dots of pale cream which looked denser than the red. More than likely they were nuts.

Intrigued, Sherlock unwrapped more of the foil. It definitely was some sort of loaf cake. He had an idea of what it was, but of course needed confirmation. He hopped up and retrieved a knife and napkin from the kitchen. Sitting back on the sofa, he completely unwrapped the loaf, cut a small slice from the middle, and placed it on the napkin. He popped a small bite into his mouth and sat back against the sofa as the flavors flooded his taste buds. The loaf was exactly what he thought.

Smiling in satisfaction, Sherlock finished up the slice he had started and sliced another piece. The two slices were devoured in less than five minutes. Needing some tea to finish it off, he set the water to boil then went back to the coffee table. He pushed the two halves of the loaf together and wrapped it back up neatly in the foil and replaced the bow.

Sherlock was seated in his chair five minutes later drinking his tea when John walked into the flat arms laden with shopping bags. "Finished your Christmas shopping, John?"

"Almost. Get me a cup of tea while I drop these in my room." He held out his arms full of bags and then gave a shiver. "It's gotten cold out there. I need to warm up."

Without replying, Sherlock made John a cuppa, set it on the table next to his chair, and topped off his own cup of tea. He just sat back down when John re-entered the living room.

"Thanks for the tea," John said as he picked up the warm cup and sat down heavily into his chair. "When I'm done, I need to walk that," he pointed with his head to the foil package on the coffee table, "down to Mrs. Hudson. One of the doctors at the surgery passed them around. I'm not a fan of the stuff so I thought I'd give it to Mrs. Hudson."

"Leave it here," Sherlock said as he picked up his laptop from the floor.

"I'm not going to let you experiment on it." John took a large gulp of tea and set the cup back on the table.

"I'm not going to experiment on it. I'm going to eat it."

John wasn't convinced. "Really. You're going to eat it? I can barely get you to ingest anything other than tea and coffee most of the time."

Sherlock raised his eyes from the laptop and met John's. "I eat."

"When was the last time you ate?" John asked.

Sherlock remained quiet.

Nodding in satisfaction, John got up to retrieve the foil package. "I better get this out of here now." When he picked it up, one side fell slightly. "What the…" John said as he set it back down on the table and stared at it. "It's definitely shorter than it was when I placed it here earlier." After opening the foil he saw the loaf had been cut and a bit was missing from the middle. John raised his eyes to Sherlock.

Sherlock, who had been watching John closely since the moment he got up, smiled shyly. "See."

John laughed heartily as he re-wrapped it. "Figures. The man who barely eats anything actually loves fruitcake."


	8. Snowball Fight

Day 4 prompt: Snowball fight

* * *

Feeling slightly depressed, John left Sherlock to his investigating and wandered to the outside of the house. Sherlock had been in a mood all day and with the clipped conversation since arriving at the crime scene a while ago, it was clear that Sherlock didn't want him around. He'd been snapped at back at the flat too so John wondered why he even followed Sherlock to the crime scene. He hated it when Sherlock's mood began to influence his own.

John stepped out the front door and spotted the homeowner's young son in the fenced-in yard playing in the snow. It looked like the boy was trying to build a snowman. He sat down on the porch steps and watched.

The boy looked up from the pile of snow in his hands and spotted John. "Excuse me sir, would you like to help me build my snowman? I can't get it as big as I'd like by myself."

With nothing else to occupy his time, John stood up and went out to the yard. If anything, it'd get his mind off Sherlock. "Sure." He began helping the boy make the base of the snowman. "My name's John. What's yours?"

"Timmy. I'm six."

"Well it's nice to meet you Timmy."

The two worked in silence for about one minute when Timmy plopped his handful of snow on the base and stood staring at John. "Do you have kids?"

"Nope," John answered while he shaped the base into more of a ball. "I think we're ready to build the snowman's middle." John looked from the snowman to Timmy. "I'll be right back. Keep on building."

John returned with a step stool he spotted by the kitchen sink when they first arrived at the house. He placed it in front of the snowman right in the center. "Here. This should help you reach higher."

"Thank you," Timmy said shyly but with a wide smile.

"So have you written your letter to Santa Claus yet?"

"Uh huh. I asked him for a bike, a video game, and a jigsaw puzzle."

"Well I hope you get everything you've asked for. You've been a good boy all year, right?"

"Yep." Timmy stood on the step stool and jumped up to add snow on top. As he came down, he missed the step and began to fall to the ground. John caught him before he could hit the ground.

"Be careful, Timmy." He made sure the boy was steady on his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said shakily.

"Good. Let's get this snowman finished." John formed the middle into more of a ball shape as Timmy added snow.

After a while, John noticed Timmy stopped adding snow to the pile. John turned around and saw Timmy staring at the ground with a big frown on his face. "What's wrong?"

Timmy looked up with tears pooling in his eyes. "I don't have a daddy. I want a daddy to build snowman with like this forever."

John was at a complete loss. He walked over to Timmy and knelt down in the snow taking the boy's small hands into his own. "I know you feel sad that you don't have a daddy. But you do have a mommy who loves you very much. I bet if you asked her, she'd build snowmen with you."

Timmy shook his head vigorously. "She always tells me she doesn't like snow."

John's shoulders dropped as he thought of something else to say. "Well, have you ever asked her to build a snowman with you?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Then you should ask her." John brushed his gloved hands over Timmy's cheeks. "Stop those tears and let's have some fun." He stood up, walked a few feet away from Timmy and scooped a small handful of snow into his hands. "Let's have a snowball fight."

Timmy's face lit up. "Really? I've never had one before."

"Well, we're definitely fixing that right now." He set the ball on the ground and began making another one. Before he had even finished rolling it into a ball, he was hit in arm with a rather small snowball. "That's it. Just make them a little bigger." John finished rolling the ball and threw it at Timmy. "Like this."

Three minutes later both had huge grins on their faces and a mound of snowballs ready for attack. Snowballs were flying everywhere, but never really hitting them. A minute later John dived behind the half snowman as he began getting pelted by snowballs with some hitting him pretty hard. He peaked around the snowman and spotted Timmy bent over the ground gathering snow and Sherlock throwing the snowballs. "Hey," John yelled. "That's not fair."

"Of course it is, John." Sherlock threw a rather large snowball near where he estimated John's head to be. "It's payback for leaving me in there by myself."

"You didn't need, or even want, me in there." John combined two of his small snowballs into a large one now that he was aiming for Sherlock.

"That was definitely not the case."

"And how was I supposed to know." John threw the snowball and was met with a grunt a few seconds later. Happy to know his aim was still good, he bent down and began rolling another ball. "You sure acted like you didn't want me there."

While John and Sherlock were talking, Timmy crept to the opposite side of the snowman. "I win," he shouted happily and threw all his snowballs onto John.

John began laughing. "That you did." He stood up and began brushing the snow off himself.

"Timmy!" Timmy's mom called from the porch. "The policemen are done now. Why don't you come inside."

Timmy looked sadly at his snowman and then at John.

John bent down to Timmy. "You won't know unless you ask her."

"'kay." Timmy walked to the front of the snowman. "Mummy, will you help me finish my snowman first?"

"Of course. Let me get my gloves and coat first."

"See?" John said.

Timmy beamed at John then launched himself at him, giving him the biggest hug he could, even if it was only around John's middle. "Thank you, John. Thank you thank you thank you."

"You're welcome, Timmy." He glanced at Sherlock as he approached the two of them. "I have to go now, but have fun finishing up with your snowman."

"I will." Timmy bounded over to the front door to wait for his mom.

"Let's go, Sherlock. I need to get out of these wet clothes."

"And whose fault is that?" Sherlock asked as he led them down to the main road to catch a taxi.

"Yours, actually."

"Ah. Well…" Sherlock trailed off.

They reached the main road and within a minute were in a taxi on their way back to Baker Street.


	9. Decorating

Day 5 Prompt: Decorating

* * *

"Give me a hand, Sherlock," John said as he hauled a cardboard box into the living room of 221B. "There are two more boxes that need to be brought up from Mrs. Hudson's flat." He placed the box on the sofa.

Sherlock began typing furiously on the laptop, but quickly glanced at the box. He then eyed John suspiciously. "Busy."

"You are not busy. Fifteen minutes ago you were complaining there was nothing to do."

With another quick look at the box, Sherlock returned his attention to the laptop.

John thought for a moment. "For once, can't you be helpful? Mrs. Hudson said she would help, but do you really want her lugging a heavy box up all those stairs? She might hurt herself." When Sherlock paused in his typing, John smiled in satisfaction.

"Fine," Sherlock huffed as he got up and followed John down the stairs. "Well played, by the way."

Letting the comment go, John picked up the smaller of the two boxes and walked back up to their flat. Sherlock mumbled something behind his back but followed seconds later. The two placed the boxes on the floor next to the sofa.

"Why did we just bring three boxes from Mrs. Hudson's into our flat?" Sherlock asked as he returned to his laptop and immediately began typing again.

John turned on the radio to a station that was playing Christmas music. "She'll be visiting family for the next few weeks and thought our flat could use some holiday cheer." Humming along to the radio, John opened the box Sherlock brought up and began removing pieces of an artificial Christmas tree. He looked around the flat and decided it would be best by the window closest to the sofa. "Since you've got nothing else to do, you can help me assemble the tree."

"Dull."

John shook his head in exasperation. "Of course. What was I thinking?" He moved all the pieces of the tree by the window and over the next forty minutes interspersed with some curses and grunts, put the tree together.

While John was engaged with the tree, Sherlock closed the laptop and sat down on the sofa next to the first box John brought in. He opened the top and began picking through the items, smiling when he spotted what he was searching for.

After turning the tree in almost a circle to get the best side facing the flat, John stood up and cracked his back. "Glad that's over. Now the fun can begin." He turned around to get the second box he brought up when he paused mid-step in surprise. "Sherlock…"

"What do you think?" Sherlock swept his arm around the room. "I decorated!" he said proudly.

John took in the fairly lights around the mirror and the entry way to the kitchen, the wreath hanging on the door, a stuffed snowman sitting in his chair, a stuffed reindeer sitting in Sherlock's chair, garland adorning the top of the bookcases on either side of the fireplace, stockings hanging from the mantle, and even spotted a Christmas towel hanging from the oven door handle. "I don't…" John began, at a loss for words. "I never took you for the Christmas decorating type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Sherlock said seriously.

"Yeah, but that's because you don't share anything about yourself if it's not related to the work." It came out harsher than John intended and he didn't mean to glare, but it couldn't be helped. He always hated how much he didn't know about Sherlock.

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets as he regarded John for a minute. "I prefer colored lights on a Christmas tree."

John softened his look and took the comment for what he knew Sherlock meant it as. "I do too. Now let's get this tree decorated."

Sherlock joined John at the box holding the ornaments and pulled out a gold star. "Mycroft never let me put the star on top while growing up. He said I wouldn't put it on perfectly."

"Go ahead." John watched Sherlock stand up and walk up to the tree. "And Sherlock?"

Sherlock paused with his hand outstretched and turned his head to John. "Hmm?"

"Thank you."

With one of his small genuine smiles, the one that John thought made Sherlock look like a little boy, Sherlock placed the star on top.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews. They are the best Christmas gifts I could ask for.


	10. Cold

Day 6 Prompt: Cold

* * *

In hindsight, the Baker Street underground station being closed should have been John's first clue of things to come. He blamed it on being too tired to think properly, and even admitted to himself that he probably wouldn't have even noticed if he'd gotten on the Piccadilly line instead of the Bakerloo line when leaving the surgery at the end of his shift.

John was knackered by the time he got on the tube. Sherlock had kept him up early into the morning going through stacks of documents for one of their clients. If he was lucky, he got four hours sleep before having to leave for work. The only positive was his shift had been just eight hours.

Trying to stay awake for his journey home on the underground was his number one goal, and for once he was glad that he traveled by the Bakerloo line. Normally the teeth jarring motion that constantly had him on the move in his seat left him unable to relax for his commute. It was just what he needed now. Falling asleep and missing his stop was not an option.

A few minutes after getting sitting down, John bit back a curse as an announcement was made indicating the incoming storm had knocked the power out at the Baker Street station and they were not going to be stopping there. The news that morning talked about a major storm that was due to hit London later. John had hoped he'd make it home before the worst of it hit, but now that wasn't the case.

It hadn't been raining when he left the surgery, but twenty minutes later as he stepped foot onto the sidewalk outside of Marylebone station, he was met with a steady rain. Quickly opening his umbrella, he began the miserable walk home to Baker Street. He passed a few coffee houses on the way and was tempted to stop in and get something to drink, but the thought of home made him continue on.

A little over five minutes later, John finally arrived at 221B. Glad to be finally be out of the rain and extreme cold, he trudged up the stairs to the flat. Wanting to get out of his wet clothes as soon as possible, and not caring that it was only late afternoon, John bypassed the living room of 221B and instead headed up to his bedroom to change. It wasn't until he removed his clothing to put on his pajamas pants, thick socks, and a sweatshirt that he realized how cold it was inside the flat. Goosebumps covered very inch of his skin.

Still shivering, even though he was dressed warmly, he pulled the duvet off his bed and hauled it down to the living room. He deposited it onto the sofa and went directly to the kitchen to make a hot cup of tea. He put the kettle on to boil and turned around, leaning against the counter.

Sherlock was seated at the table trying to work on some type of experiment that John didn't want the details of. "This is intolerable," he stated, then turned in his chair to face John.

"So how long has everything been out? I actually had to walk from the Marylebone tube station since Baker Street was closed."

"The power's out?" Sherlock glanced around the flat and saw that the light he left on in the living room that morning was off and the clock on the microwave was dark. "I hadn't noticed."

"And you say I'm not observant."

Sherlock glanced at the counter behind John then smirked. "How much tea are you making?"

"An entire pot."

"So you like cold tea then?"

"What? You know I don't."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the counter behind John. John just stared at him blankly. "You've definitely had a tiring day."

Slightly confused, John looked closely at Sherlock and followed his eyes when he noticed the man wasn't looking at him.

"Ah." Slightly embarrassed, John unplugged the kettle and dumped the water out.

Giving a satisfied smile, Sherlock turned back to the kitchen table.

John shivered and crossed his arms over his chest. "God, it's freezing. I'm never going to get warm standing here." He went to the living room and huddled under his duvet at one end of the sofa. As he let the warmth of the fire in the fireplace soak into him, his shivers slowed but didn't stop completely. It was still unbearably cold. John knew he'd be warmer sitting next to the blazing fire in his chair, but right now he wanted the comfort the sofa provided. He was definitely sleeping down in the living room that night.

Sherlock banged his arms on the table in frustration. "John, this really is intolerable."

John popped his head out of his blanket cocoon. "What do you expect me to do? I can't fix the electricity?"

"What does electricity have to do with it?"

John closed his eyes in frustration. "What's intolerable?" He then noticed that Sherlock was just wearing his long sleeve shirt and trousers. "Aren't you cold?"

"This case is intolerable! Graham promised me that it was at least a seven, but it's only a three at most." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "And no, I'm not cold. Just transport. Remember?"

"It's Greg, Sherlock. And how could I forget. You don't experience things like cold and hot. You're not human," he grumbled and returned to his blanket cocoon. His eyes began to slide shut. Sherlock began talking about the case, but John ignored him. He was exhausted so within a few minutes he was asleep.

John stirred when something heavy was placed on top of him and something ice cold wiggled under his calves. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around with a yawn. The fire was still blazing but now there were a few candles placed on the coffee table for more light, as it had gotten dark. Sherlock was seated on the other side of the sofa, legs outstretched towards him. Sherlock's duvet also lay on top of the both of them. That explained pressure that woke him up and the cold, as Sherlock wiggled his toes again. "Don't experience cold, do you?" John laughed.

"Shut up." Sherlock sunk down under the fluffy warmth so just his head was showing.

"I thought so." John was quiet for a moment. "Are you sleeping here tonight, too?"

"I'm not sure if I'll sleep, but I'll be on this sofa all night. It's the only warm place in the flat."

John yawned widely and closed his eyes. "You better not keep me awake," he slurred as he went back to sleep.

Sherlock sat up just a little bit and stared at John for a few minutes. When he was sure he was asleep, he pulled out his phone, sent off a text, then slid back to a more comfortable position. John's dinner and some tea for the both of them would be at the flat within the hour.


	11. Candles

Day 7 Prompt: Candles

* * *

"Tell me again why you have to buy so many candles?" John asked as he followed Sherlock around Primark. They had already bought more than a dozen seasonal scented candles from M&S, Selfridges, and John Lewis.

"I'm testing a theory." Sherlock picked up a red candle with mint candies stuck to the outside and handed it to John.

"Do I want to know the details?" He brought the candle to his nose and gave a sniff before putting it into the shopping bag he held.

"Probably not." Sherlock walked around to the other end of the aisle and picked up a green candle in a glass jar. He eyed it for a few seconds then handed it to John as well. "I think we're done here."

John led the way to the registers. "Please tell me you have all you need." He unloaded all the candles on the counter by the register and ignored the odd look the cashier was giving them.

"I think so, yes." Sherlock jammed his hands in his coat pockets and glared at the cashier while

he waited impatiently as the candles were rung up and then painstakingly wrapped separately in tissue paper. After finally paying for all the candles, he grabbed the bag and headed out to Oxford Street to hail a taxi back to Baker Street.

After entering the flat ten minutes later, Sherlock took all the bags from John and stashed them in his bedroom.

"Not experimenting with them now?" John asked as he opened the refrigerator to see what he could make for dinner. He closed it quickly when he saw it was empty save for a bag of something Sherlock brought home from Barts the day before.

"It's not the correct time," he answered as he walked through the kitchen to the living room, removed his coat and scarf, and then settled into his chair.

"There's nothing to eat in here. I'm going to order a pizza. I've been craving one for a few days now." John opened up his laptop which was sitting on the table in the living room, pulled up the nearest pizza place, and ordered a pizza. He then opened up his blog.

A few minutes later Sherlock's text alert broke the comfortable silence in the flat. He pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and opened the text. "Lestrade's got a case. He wants us to come to the Yard right now." He fired off a response and jumped up from the chair and quickly put on his coat and scarf.

"I have to wait for the pizza," John responding, not moving. "Go without me."

"But…" Sherlock started to protest.

"Get the details and then text me." John's stomach decided to growl. He covered it with his hands as a look of embarrassment crossed his face. "I'll wait for the delivery, eat quickly, and then meet up with you."

"It's not ideal, but okay." Sherlock shoved his hands into his gloves. "Come as quickly as you can." He then spun around and all but ran down the stairs and out of the flat.

John took a deep breath and began typing up a new post as he waited for his dinner and information from Sherlock.

Three days later, after the case was finally solved, John entered the flat with three bags of groceries. He put them on the kitchen table to empty when he spotted lit candles on top of the stove, the small table by the door, and next to the refrigerator. Shaking his head, he put away everything he bought then wandered into the living room with a sniff. There were two more lit candles in that room. One was on the coffee table and the other was on the mantle. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked towards Sherlock's bedroom. A flickering caught his attention in the darkened bathroom. He took a step into the room and saw another lit candle flickering away on the sink. "Sherlock, you do know it's dangerous to leave lit candles unattended, right?" He paused and rubbed at his nose. "Are you trying to see how many candles it takes to burn down the flat?" He walked to Sherlock's bedroom door and looked inside. Sherlock was sitting on his bed with a lit candle on his nightstand and another one in his hand.

"I'm not trying to burn down the flat. I'm…" he trailed off, then sneezed into his free hand. "I…" he tried again only to be interrupted with another sneeze, then another.

John leaned over and blew out the candle in Sherlock's hand then blew out the one on his nightstand.

"I wasn't done with those." He looked at John slightly crestfallen then sneezed yet again.

John grabbed the box of tissues that was on the bottom shelf of the nightstand, pulled a few out, and handed them to Sherlock. "You are done with them." He took the candle from Sherlock's lax hand and set it on the nightstand.

"I need to finish, John," he almost whined, then sneezed harshly.

"They are making you sneeze."

"Obvious deduction, but irrelevant. I need to finish." He grabbed another tissue from the box John placed on the bed.

"I don't think having an allergy attack will help you." John sat next to Sherlock on the bed. "What were you doing with them anyway?"

"I was trying to find candles that have fragrances that remind me of the Christmases I spent as a small boy." Sherlock quickly stood up and fled to living room.

A small smile spread across John's face. Sherlock sharing anything about his past always had that effect on him. He got up to follow Sherlock but made a detour to the bathroom. After blowing out that candle, he went to the living room. He found Sherlock with his back to the room and was staring out the window. When Sherlock rubbed his nose, John went around the kitchen and living room blowing out all those lit candles as well. He sat in his chair and stared at Sherlock's back. "I thought you didn't do sentiment," he said quietly.

Sherlock flinched but didn't respond.

John actually felt guilty. He knew that wasn't the case the moment he said it. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't know why I said that. I know it's not true."

There was still no response from Sherlock. Sighing, John got up and went to the kitchen to do the washing up that he left from that morning.

"I wanted to share some of my childhood with you," Sherlock began quietly, still staring out the window.

Knowing the importance of this conversation, John dried his hands on a towel and walked into the living room to stand just a little bit behind Sherlock.

"The thing I remember most about Christmases as a child was the smell." Sherlock finally turned around. His face had gone a light shade of pink. "I wanted you to experience that. That's what I was trying to find."

John looked at Sherlock with a bit of adoration. "I'd be honored to share that with you, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed in frustration. "But I can't do that now."

"You can." John walked over the window and opened it just a little. "Let the scents dissipate for a while. Then try again, but not with over six candles lit at the same time."

A genuine smile grew on Sherlock's lips and he grabbed John's shoulders in delight. "You're a genius, John."


	12. Scrooge

Day 8 Prompt: Scrooge

* * *

"Must we listen to that incessant noise?" Sherlock questioned, glaring at the radio seated on the credenza behind Lestrade.

"Yes. It's Christmas and I happen to like Christmas music." Lestrade pulled open the file folder in front of him and turned it toward Sherlock who was sitting on the opposite side of his desk. "Here's the case file. I can't let it leave this office so you'll have to read it here."

"Between that racket called music and the garish décor you put up, I can't think here. I need to take the file back to the flat." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Garish décor? Sherlock, they're called Christmas decorations. And it's only a small decorated tree, some garland, and some lights. It's not like every square inch of my office is covered in lights."

"No, but the rest of the building is. And I don't care what it is." Abruptly, Sherlock stood up. "Let me know when all this is gone and I'll come back." He turned around and headed to the door.

Lestrade sighed and took a guess as to what was wrong. "How long is John gone?"

Sherlock paused with his hand on the door knob, and lowered his head. "He'll be back in four more days," he admitted, quietly. "He's already been gone for three. He's spending the holiday with his sister."

"Well no wonder you've turned into a Scrooge."

Because he knew it was true, with a half-hearted glare at Lestrade, Sherlock left New Scotland Yard.


	13. Wrapped Up

Day 9 Prompt - Wrapped up

* * *

"Hoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called as she knocked on the door to 221B and stepped into the living room.

Sherlock was crouched under the Christmas tree placing a pair of gloves and a gift card on the tree skirt. "What do you want, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson walked up to the decorated tree. "I was just checking to see if you're up. I've got your morning tea ready." She spotted the items that Sherlock had just placed. "Sherlock, dear, those are supposed to be wrapped up before you place them under the tree."

"What for?" he asked standing up. "These are items John needs and wants. There's no reason to surprise him."

"That's not the point, Sherlock." She sat down in John's chair. "Its tradition and everyone looks forward to the excitement of unwrapping gifts."

Sherlock just blinked at Mrs. Hudson.

"Well, I guess everyone gets excited but you. You probably already know what you're getting anyway." She studied Sherlock for a moment. "Don't you remember what it was like unwrapping gifts as a child?"

"I deleted it. It wasn't important."

"Wasn't imp…Oh, Sherlock." She looked at Sherlock sadly. "Those gifts still need to be wrapped up. Let me take them downstairs and wrap them for you." Mrs. Hudson took the two items down to her flat and retuned with the tea. She found Sherlock lying on the sofa obviously in his mind palace. With a fond look, she set the tray on the coffee table and returned to her flat. She left John's gifts on her kitchen table with the expectation that Sherlock would be down in a bit to wrap them up himself.


	14. Egg Nog

Day 10 Prompt: Egg Nog

* * *

Freshly showered and dressed, Sherlock walked into the kitchen to see what John was doing.

"Good morning," John began, then noticed the time. "I guess I should say good afternoon instead."

Sherlock stepped up to the counter and peered into the pitcher John just set down. Inside was a thick creamy pale yellow liquid with specks of brown. A deep sniff was met with nutmeg and another scent he couldn't describe. "What is that?"

John poured two glasses and held one out to Sherlock. "Egg nog. It's extremely popular in America this time of year. Try it." John took a large sip of his drink.

Sherlock took the offered glass and hesitantly took a sip.

"One of the nurses at the surgery is American and made this for our Christmas party. She said that it sometimes has alcohol in it too. I got the recipe from her." John watched as Sherlock quickly downed his entire glass. "Liked that, did you?"

"Can I have another glass?" Sherlock held out his glass to John to refill.

"I guess that's a yes." John poured Sherlock just a little bit more. "Don't get carried away. Too much of this and you'll end up having the toilet as your new best friend."

Sherlock looked at John in confusion. "Why?"

"It's a very decadent drink. One of the orderlies had three glasses. He spent the majority of rest of his shift in the toilet sick or just feeling miserable."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sherlock then drank this glass more slowly. "Put that recipe someplace where you won't lose it. I'd like this a few more times before the season is over." He finished the glass, put it in the sink and then put on his coat and scarf. "I'm going down to Barts. Molly has my requested fingers." He was out the door seconds later.

John took the recipe out of his pocket and put it on top of his laptop to type up later. He'd do anything for Sherlock if it meant he was eating and drinking, even if it wasn't that healthy.


	15. Christmas Carols

Day 11 Prompt: Christmas Carols

* * *

Yawning, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom and wandered through the kitchen to the living room. He sunk into his chair and blinking slowly, stared off into space. At the sound of John's footsteps on the stairs, he looked eagerly to the door. John had been at a conference for the past two days and had gone to bed last night before Sherlock came back from finishing up a case at New Scotland Yard.

"I didn't think you'd be up yet." John said when he spotted Sherlock. He went directly into kitchen to make a cup of coffee to take with him on his commute to work.

Of course he was up. He had to make sure he saw John before he left for his morning shift at the surgery. "I have things to do this morning that require an early start."

John looked questioningly at Sherlock since he was still in his pajamas. "Well, I hope you can keep yourself out of trouble until late tonight. I won't be home until after 10." John grabbed his jacket from the back of the door and shrugged it on.

Sherlock looked up at John in alarm. "What? You just got back. Where are you going now?"

John went back for his travel mug of coffee. "A group of us are going to sing Christmas carols in the children's ward of a few hospitals. In between we're going to stop for dinner and then afterwards we're going to one of their houses for drinks."

That was unacceptable to Sherlock. He needed John at the flat. If not at the flat, then with him wherever he was. It seemed like he was at his wits end without John around for the past few days. Lestrade had even threatened him with no cases unless he behaved better. In the past, Sherlock was fine by himself. That wasn't the case anymore and right now he didn't want to examine why. "When and where are you starting?"

"I don't see why you are interested, but St Barts at four pm." John glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow, unless you're up when I get home."

"But…" Sherlock began, but stopped as he realized there was no one else in the room. Sinking down lower in his chair, he steepled his hands in front of his mouth and closed his eyes. He needed a plan.

At 4 o'clock Sherlock wandered up to the children's ward at Barts Hospital and truly wondered why he was there at all. This was the last place he wanted to be. The only location he enjoyed visiting in a hospital was the morgue.

Within moments of arriving at the floor, he found the group. They were in a small multipurpose type room. Along the back wall in the center was a decorated Christmas tree with wrapped Christmas presents underneath. The wall was decorated with children's drawings. In front of the tree was the group, of about fifteen, singing carols. They all had on bits of red and green, were sporting some type of Christmas themed hats, and were holding green folders. In front of them were about a dozen children listening raptly; with some even singing.

Sherlock spotted John immediately and held back a grin. He had on the cream jumper he left the flat in but had added a red scarf and a Santa hat with jingle bells all over the rim. Sherlock entered the room and wormed his way through the carolers to stand just behind John. He joined in singing as the group got to the chorus of _Joy To The World_.

John had been so intent on his music, and the fact that the door was opened up along the side by the back wall, that he didn't register Sherlock entering the room. The moment he heard Sherlock's voice behind him, his eyes went wide. He continued singing and willed the song to be over quickly.

When the song finally finished, John discretely turned around. His jaw dropped open and he thought his eyes might pop out of his head. Sherlock stood behind him with an amused look and wearing his normal attire, but also had on a headband with antlers and jingle bells on it. "I need to take a picture of this," he whispered.

The laughter from Sherlock's face dissolved. "Don't you dare," he hissed.

"What are you doing here?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just flipped John's sheet music over and began singing _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ , with the rest of the group. "Later," he whispered then began singing.

The group sang three more songs, then left to go wander the floor and stop in to the rooms that held the children who had to stay in bed. John let the others go first so he could speak with Sherlock. "So what's the deal? You hate kids and doing anything like this. I didn't even know you could sing. Why are you here?"

"You're here," he answered bluntly, then took off the headband. It was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was where he was and what he was doing that was giving him the headache.

"And?" John prompted.

"And nothing. You're here." He slowly put his hands in his pockets. "That's why I'm here."

"I don't understand." They had arrived at the first room but John hung back.

"I don't know what else to tell you." Sherlock walked past John into the room, put on his antlers and walked to the back of the group.

John stared after Sherlock mulling his rather odd response around in his head. Still not understanding, he went inside, took his place next to Sherlock and joined in singing _Frosty the Snowman_. John didn't fully join in for the entire song. He couldn't get Sherlock's answer out of his head.

When the song was over, the group left the room and went to another. John and Sherlock were only a few steps out of the room when John grabbed Sherlock by the arm to make him stop, possibly understanding why Sherlock was there. "You're here because I'm here. You want to be where I am?"

"Must I keep repeating myself? Yes, John. You were gone for two days." Sherlock wished he stayed home when a wide smile began forming on John's face.

"I don't believe it. Sherlock Holmes actually missed someone."

"Shut up," Sherlock interrupted.

John continued. "Sherlock Holmes is willing to spend an hour or so doing something he hates just so he could be around the person he missed."

The jovial tone left John's face and he looked at Sherlock with a tenderness that Sherlock didn't recall anyone showing him before. He was beginning to feel very uncomfortable now and started to figit.

"I missed you too. And I'm honored that you actually did miss me. I sometimes wondered if you even noticed when I'm not there."

"I always notice," Sherlock said quietly. "Can we leave now, John, and go home?" He looked eagerly from John to the elevators.

"Can we stop and get a take away for dinner?"

Sherlock just gave a quick nod.

"Let me tell the others that I need to leave. I'll meet you at the elevators."

"Thank you, John." As John went to find the group, Sherlock happily went to the elevators. While waiting, he made a note to himself to check John's blog often for the next few days. He didn't want a word of this getting out. He had a reputation to uphold afterall.


End file.
